


Alvarez, Carla

by Whedonista93



Series: An (Un)Expendable Loser [1]
Category: The Losers (2010)
Genre: Backstory, Canon Compliant, Gen, Rule 63, fem!Cougar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-27
Updated: 2015-05-27
Packaged: 2018-04-01 11:55:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4018792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whedonista93/pseuds/Whedonista93
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She can take care of herself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alvarez, Carla

_ Alvarez, Carla _

_ Rank: Sergeant _

_ MOS: 18B - Special Forces, Weapons _

_ Specialty: Long-range eliminations _

_ Security Clearance: Top Secret _

_ Mission Reports: attached _

_ Distinguishing Marks: Skull and Crow motif tattooed on right shoulder blade _

_ Next of Kin: Alvarez, Rosa; mother _

Lt. Col. Franklin Clay tossed the file onto his C.O.’s desk, the list of information goes on, but he’s not interested. “No way in hell.”

“It’s not an option Clay. You’re taking her,” the Major’s tone brooked no argument.

Clay hesitated. “What’s this file not telling me?”

His C.O.’s face was guarded as he answered carefully. “She’s gone through four units in the last two years.”

“Why?”

His C.O. wouldn’t meet his gaze.

“Why?” he repeated.

His C.O. shrugged uncomfortably. “A lot of men still take issue with a woman being in the Army. Especially the Special Forces. Women in combat is still… experimental. Units often take it upon themselves to remind their women of what they think their ‘place’ should be.”

The explanation was terse and tense and the unspoken implication was left hanging heavy in the air between them.

Finally, Clay asked what he really wanted to know. “Why my team?”

His C.O. met his eyes for the first time since he’d walked into the office, “I expect better of you. And she’s one of the best soldiers and  _ the _ best damn sniper I’ve seen in ages.”

“A question off the record, sir?”

A nod.

“How’d she handle her units, er… reminders?”

“First incident got one guy a broken arm. Second incident got two guys bruised ribs and sprained wrists. Third time left two guys with concussions, one guy with a broken wrist, and another with knife buried in his shoulder.”

“And the last?”

“Her C.O. is still in the hospital and will likely spend the rest of his life pissing through a catheter.”

Clay nodded and picked the file back up.

* * *

Clay laid shit on the line before Alvarez even showed up. “Special Forces has a shitty rep when it comes to this particular soldier. No reason for it as far as I can tell. That being said," he held the file in his hand aloft, "fucking flawless shot record – damn near impossible to believe. Do not fuck this up, or I will fuck you up. We clear?”

“Crystal.” A smooth voice answered from behind him. “But I can take care of myself, sir.”

Roque takes in the scuffed combat boots, dark fatigues, white tee-shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and black hair, shaved close, peeking out from under a dark leather cowboy hat. She had an army duffle over one shoulder, a rifle case over the other, a snub nose six shooter holstered on her hip, and wicked blade strapped to the opposite thigh. Every inch of her screamed Special Forces training, a quiet confidence, and something else he couldn’t quite place; every inch of her screamed danger. Every inch of her screamed Loser.

Pooch looked her up and down once, nodded, and went back to looking at engagement rings.

Jensen, for one of the first times in his life, was speechless. He felt caught somewhere between terrified and in love.

Clay decided right then and there that she was the final piece of the puzzle that was his team.

* * *

The team crept around her like she was glass until she took out two men and one Humvee with one bullet and then turned around and gutted some idiot, who thought he’d snuck up on her perch, without blinking. That night, Pooch bought her a beer, Roque handed her a knife he deemed better quality than “the pig sticker she was carrying now,” and Jensen badgered her endlessly about how many times before she’d use that move, and where she learned that specific technique. She just smirked a little and pulled her hat down over her eyes as she leaned back and enjoyed her beer.

Later that night, Jensen walked into the rat’s ass motel room he was sharing with her and Pooch to find her with her rifle stripped and spread meticulously on the bed before her, and decided to try one last time.

“Alvarez?”

She tensed, then forcibly relaxed and looked up at him.

“Where did you learn that?”

Her earlier smirk returned, but this time, without the cover of her hat, he could see the sadness in her eyes.

“His name was James,” she responded quietly.

“Old boyfriend?”

She arched a brow at him.

“Sorry, bad joke.”

She took a deep breath. “My C.O. with my first unit.”

“I’m gonna take a wild guess here and assume that wasn’t one of the bad ones.”

She tensed again, but shook her head. “He had a sister. She was part of a group testing women in the infantry. He knew what I would have to deal with and tried to make sure I would be ready for it.”

“He never tried…”

She shook her head fiercely. “No.”

“Why didn’t you stay with them?”

“Lost every single one of them on our second deployment.”

“You survived.”

“I was set up nearly a mile away with my rifle. I still felt the bombs go off.”

“I’m sorry.”

For a moment, she just stared at him, searching for a sign that he really understood. She saw he did and nodded. They lapsed into silence.

“Alvarez?”

“Cougar,” she offered quietly.

“Huh?”

She looked up at him. “Cougar. They called me Cougar.”

Jensen grinned. “No one ever hears you coming?”

She smirked and nodded.

Jensen forgot what he meant to ask and smiled instead. “Cougar.”

* * *

Bolivia broke them. Bolivia broke  _ her _ . She fell to her knees and prayed to a God she had nearly forgotten about in the midst of all she’d done and seen, and it felt like the only thing that kept her rooted to the ground was Jensen’s hand on her shoulder.

* * *

Aisha was a surprise. Cougar didn’t like surprises, but with her life, she’d learned to be adaptable. Aisha was a wild card. She didn’t like wild cards. When Aisha suggested taking a war to the C.I.A. she said, “They started it,” because it was the easiest way to get back to the States. She trusted Aisha even less than Roque trusted Aisha, but she kept her opinion to herself and watched from the sidelines. When Aisha shot Jensen, Cougar saw red and began making very detailed plans that ended in the other woman’s death. Aisha showing up when she did with a rocket launcher and Cougar’s anger more immediately directed at the fucker who dared to lay a finger on her hat than at the other woman… well, that was simply good luck on Aisha’s part.

* * *

Los Angeles should have broke them. Roque’s betrayal should have torn them apart. Cougar was silently grateful that she was the one who ended Roque. None of the others would have dealt well with it. Clay would’ve fallen into a drunken pit that none of them could pull him out of – he still might. Pooch and Jensen would never have been able to handle the guilt that should come with killing a friend. Cougar didn’t feel that guilt – Roque stopped being a friend the moment he decided to offer them up to Max. She’d worry later about what it said about her psyche that it didn’t even phase her to end his life.

Los Angeles should have broken them, but it didn't - somehow, it just made them stronger.

* * *

Jensen and Pooch healed. Clay and Aisha circled each other in a dance that Cougar did not want to understand. They helped Pooch get to his son’s birth, and for the first time, Cougar considered calling her family, if only so Pooch could actually have a chance to live life with his.

**Author's Note:**

> This can stand alone, but it is a lead into a crossover I'm working on.


End file.
